


Found in Translation

by hannahrhen



Series: Frostiron Fluff [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Language Barrier, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 09:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It made a kind of sense: Loki probably had good memories of being worshipped as a god, so why wouldn’t he slip back into the mother tongue when he was on the knife’s edge of ecstasy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Found in Translation

**Author's Note:**

> Standalone, but a couple of lines harken back to the [Here Comes Your Man](http://archiveofourown.org/series/61591) series.

The first time Tony heard it, Loki was on the edge of orgasm.

Not … really surprising, there. He had Loki on his side, on the end of the bed, with one leg bent flat against the mattress and the other held up in the crook of Tony’s elbow. Loki was gasping and sobbing as Tony thrust nice and rough from his crouched position, and, Christ, it was out of control.

Boiling hot having Loki this way, helpless (enough) and hard and overcome.

Didn’t hurt that Tony had come once already and was working on Loki’s third. He was starting to debate how he was going to finish himself, either inside that tight ass, or rolling Loki to his back and jerking off messy all over him, or a little ass-to-m—

Loki’s whimpers were suddenly something else.

Words. But not words Tony could recognize. Something low and hard and forced out from deep in that slender throat, and Loki wasn’t looking at him—wasn’t looking at all. Had his eyes squeezed shut, lips barely moving and—

Tony slowed—had to ask, sucking in air, while his cock remained buried to the root: “Are you—” Oh, that was  _good._ But, “… Are you okay?”

The strange speech stopped and Loki’s eyes shot open, and, yeah, he was angry as a startled cat—the usual reaction. Tony got half a kick into his side for his trouble, and almost lost his hold on Loki’s leg and his own footing. Was ordered to “keep fucking me, Stark—now,” and, fine, it was in both their interests for Tony to obey. Even if he was hesitant to hit the same level of rough again.

Loki’s eyes, now, stayed open, and he’d turned a little pink.

Okay, he’d  _been_  a little pink, since a couple of orgasms and a cock pounding your ass would do that to you. He’d  _turned_  a little bright  _red._

Huh.

Tony decided he would shoot in Loki’s ass, and pronto, and then tease the god’s swollen cock and tender balls for awhile until he got revenge for the kick. Didn’t hear the Black Speech of Mordor again, and had the impression Loki was trying to hold it back behind closed lips that only mewled for the rest of their fuck.

Later on, of course, he’d asked JARVIS.

“Loki was speaking in what is now referred to as Old Norse, sir, which was originally spoken in the eighth century in the—”  _Blah, blah, blah,_  and, yeah, that made sense, Tony supposed. Loki probably had good memories of being openly worshipped and virgin sacrifices and shit, so why _wouldn’t_  he slip back into the mother tongue when he was on the knife’s edge of ecstasy?

Of course, it was discovering what Loki was saying that was a special delight:

“Harder. No— _harder!”_

“Please…”

“I need you. I  _need_  you.”

And, yeah, hearing that shit in JARVIS’ cool, dispassionate voice was a little unsettling and gave Tony a bit of the anti-boner, but after a span of time had passed, he just flopped onto a barstool and smirked.  _Please. I need you._  Not words he’d ever heard Loki say in English or whatever magical language he and Thor claimed to speak that sounded and looked exactly like English being spoken, but whatever.

Aww, his own little shy, half-insane god, trying to mask his signal, while Tony was the king of cutting through noise. And Loki’s  _chutzpah,_  to do it while being speared with Tony’s cock, while having his hole plowed and the sweet little bull’s-eye of his prostate worked over and over by Tony’s thick dickhead until it dribbled precome all over his—

Oh, yeah,  _that_  wasn’t an anti-boner. That was one hundred percent pro-boner. Tony shifted on the barstool.  _Damn._

He wondered if he could get Loki to do it again. The talking, not just the—

Yep. Loki did it again.

This time, Tony was pinned underneath, and marveling that Loki always felt so much heavier from this angle, like he was letting it all hang out, Thanksgiving-style. Not that Tony minded. Loved the feeling of being pressed into the bed—the couch, a rug, the slick surface of a sturdy table—and just ridden. Loki fucked him like a champ this way, that giant cock making itself at home in his guts, but this time …

This time, though, Tony’s ass was left to pulse and clench around nothing. Instead, it was dicks and fists, as Loki held one of Tony’s wrists next to his head, leaving Tony’s other hand free to … yeah, okay, get nice and lubed up and take both of them together, and stroke, and stroke, and  _stroke—_

_Ohhh …_

Loki’s other hand, too, was free, and he brought it up to Tony’s neck as Tony’s grip jerked around them, and slid it past his throat into the nape behind, threading into the short hairs and cupping the back of his skull. Loki bore his own weight—some of it—on his knees and forearms, the weight he wasn’t expecting Tony to accommodate, anyway. His face was so close, temple pressed to temple, and Tony could feel every undulation of that body as Loki responded to the touch, as he worked his own hips to get that pleasure just right.

“Stark,” he whispered, breath hot on Tony’s jaw and throat. “Stark.” And then, again, the low words that sounded like they should have been familiar, some kind of crazy-ass exotic great grand-uncle to English, where each sound meant something Tony should know, but, in the end, he just shifted his head back and knocked at Loki’s forehead with his own.

When he got the look from Loki, irritated, but—hey—his hips were still moving, and so was Tony’s hand, he asked, “Do you want to tell me something?” And that comforting cradle Loki’s palm had made for Tony’s hard head? Yeah, turned out Tony’s hair was just long enough to be caught between lean fingers and pulled.

“Give me release.” The fingers relented, and, “Now,” he added with a tinge of sweetness, the little pink packet of it just enough to make Tony comply.

Like Tony wouldn’t anyway. He grabbed more lube, pushed Loki’s thighs further apart across his own, and got ready for two cocks’ worth of spunk to splatter warm trails all over his stomach and chest. Loki didn’t say anything else; he just sealed his mouth to Tony’s right before he came, and Tony swallowed the moan, which sounded—felt,  _tasted_ —like Tony’s given name.

JARVIS fretted that the translation wasn’t precise, he could only come close, but:

“‘Your hands work me as if they have always done so.’ Sir.”

“‘I can smell your sweat, your effort, your arousal—-it is like a perfume,’” which, yeah, okay. Wow.

And: “‘I hear the sound of your heart,’” which— _huh_ —was a little too literal, but …

Okay.

Why the pissy god who’d been sharing Tony’s bed for months wanted to be the only one who understood those words, Tony would never—

Well, yeah, Tony knew. Understood wanting to, you know, keep shit to yourself. Not give anyone something to hold over you. But wished— _wished_ —he could hear the words as they were coming out of Loki’s panting, desperate mouth, not puzzled over later by a JARVIS tone he tried not to hear disapproval in.

Yeah, JARVIS had never liked Loki since  _the thing,_  but that wasn’t important right now.

What was important? Inventing some shit.

Translator earpieces—very, very tiny, undetectable ones—were part of Tony’s stock-in-trade, after all. And tweaking one to intercept Old Norse and transmit it  _sotto voce_  to Tony’s ear canal was child’s play. The fact that it was going to be used to interpret Loki’s dirty talk while they were fucking was less like child’s play, but he’d worry about reframing it later, if he got caught.

 _Pffft._  He wasn’t going to get caught.

And, yes, it was interfacing with JARVIS, and JARVIS would be the one doing the translating, but he’d risked more disapproval by asking Jay to use an alternative voice pattern—no, not female, he’d discarded that idea almost immediately. But a quiet, neutral-American, male voice, not too cheerful, not too dour. Less “Mind the Gap” and more … the sort of voice that might make prerecorded announcements in a Midwestern department store.

JARVIS really had no place in their bedroom, while they were getting nasty. Tony had enough fetishes, thank you very much.

So it had been kind of disappointing when, the first time he’d worn it, Tony hadn’t even gotten a hint of Viking tongue. The device had remained silent while Loki had been all “raise your ass higher” and “put your tongue behind my sac—yes, just there” in perfect English or whatever-it-was, and if Loki had given Tony’s expectant look a bit of a suspicious glare, well—

There were lots of suspicious glares between them. Tony hardly knew for certain what inspired that one.

After, when Tony was sweaty and throbbing and definitely  _not_  the little spoon—he just liked lying that way, thanks—and Loki, behind, was stroking fingertips down the bumps of Tony’s spine … he heard a single sentence, said once, incomprehensible, then echoed in that small, neutral tone:

“You’ve done something, clever one.”

Tony kept his body from stilling under the continuing caress, but he cringed inwardly when he realized he was holding his breath.

He exhaled, then. “Maybe.”

Loki’s fingertips turned into a frictioned slide of hand—still good, God, so good—down his spine and back up his ribs and shoulder blades, and Tony shivered.

More low words, a jumble of comforting and alien sounds, and a split-second delay before he heard, “There are truths I am not ready for you to know.”

Tony arched under the hand until it—damn—pulled away, but then Loki pressed his lips to the knob of Tony’s spine, and again to the vee of his hairline. “When I am ready, I will speak them for you, only to you, and you will understand.”

And that was Tony sighing, resigned, as he dug the earpiece out— _fuck,_  that adhesive hurt like a bitch!—and pointedly dropped it on the nightstand.

“Good,” Loki hummed. “And Stark?” The palm curled as it slid around Tony’s waist, to his front, and, goddammit, he was not the  _little spoon._

“What?” he huffed.

“I wish to hear  _every beat_  of your heart, Man of Iron. Every single one.”

Which …  _oh._

So.

Translations weren’t all that, after all, and Tony could already hear JARVIS’ blustering defensively about the challenges of interpreting a millennium-old language with precision. But that could wait until later, and he scooted back flush against Loki’s chest and pelvis and thighs, let the arm hold him, and let the pounding of his heart be heard.

And settled in to wait until Loki was ready to share the definitive edition.

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com)!


End file.
